


A Room with a Q

by loftyperch



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Bond is an idiot, But With a Little Action, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Romantic Comedy, They Both Love Their Job, Workplace Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:49:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22118173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loftyperch/pseuds/loftyperch
Summary: “I need you to stop flirting with your quartermaster, is that understood?”
Relationships: James Bond/Q, M/Eve Moneypenny
Comments: 16
Kudos: 313





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part Two is almost done, but I'm a natural multi-chapper, I just can't help but love cliffhangers and clever transitions and breaks in the action. I had to indulge a _little_.
> 
> And if there ever _is_ a part three, then it'll just be a short, porn-y epilogue.
> 
> Now, off you go.

“Bit early for scotch, don’t you think, sir?” Bond looked from the glass to the clock, sensing a trap.

“Bit early for a conversation like this one, I’m afraid.” M heaved one of his tightly-laced sighs and started drinking.

Shrugging, Bond did likewise.

“I need you to stop flirting with your quartermaster, is that understood?”

“It’s not flirting.” He genuinely believed it wasn’t, but his insistence had a defensiveness to it that made him wince.

With a _look_ , M took another sip.

“Did Q complain?”

“No. Not to me, anyway. But it’s inappropriate enough that Eve’s remarked upon it.”

“Gossipy minx,” Bond said with a crooked smile of approval. “She’s wasted in your office.”

“Don’t try to change the subject. Be more professional with Q. Even if it’s reciprocated, this flirtation has the potential to become distracting and dangerous. There could even be questions of loyalty.”

“I hate to quibble, sir, but it’s not flirting.” To prove his point, Bond leaned in close and lowered his voice to a whisper. His nose ‘accidentally’ grazed M’s ear. “I know when I’m flirting.”

With another sigh, even more tightly laced than the first, M dismissed him.

As soon as the door was shut behind him, Bond moved to loom over Moneypenny’s desk. Utterly unflapped, she finished the sentence she was typing before turning to find out what he wanted.

“M’s giving you the rest of the day off. Let’s go for a nosh to celebrate.”

Good-naturedly disbelieving, she scribbled a note (“kidnapped by 007, send rescue when convenient”) and stood to go.

\-------------

After raiding a nearby Pret a Manger, they found a lovely little park with a lovely little bench and settled in for the interrogation.

“So you think Q and I _flirt_?”

“Well don’t you?”

“No, when an agent and his quartermaster do it, it’s called ‘clever banter.’”

She tutted and took a bite of her sandwich. Her argument was best made in long, knowing silences and arched eyebrows.

“If Q and I are flirting, then what the hell are you and M doing?”

“We’re not doing anything,” she said, and Bond recognized the same wince that had plagued him earlier.

“Then neither are we.” He could have left it at that, but one last question popped out of his mouth, awkward and unbidden. “I mean, is Q even …?”

“What, gay?” she scoffed. “I thought you were supposed to be some sort of spy.”

On that note, she took her sandwich and left.

\--------------

For the record, Bond had been trying to find a delicate way to ask whether Q was amenable to _coworkers_ , but Moneypenny’s retort had reminded him that there were better ways to find out than friends’ opinions.

He popped down to the tunnels and swept into the lab unannounced. Q didn’t even glance at the door, too focused on some numbers to do more than wave in acknowledgment. Not wanting to interrupt, Bond silently sat on the desk and watched the kid concentrate. Now that he knew what others thought, Bond couldn’t help but think such things, too; Q was cute in a scrawny, bookish sort of way, brilliant to boot, and they got on famously ...

A slender hand reached blindly for a mug, and Bond ensured that they found each other so Q didn’t have to look up.

 _Damn_ , Bond realized, so quickly it had to be true, _we _have_ been flirting, haven’t we?_.

After a moment, Q typed up a quick response to that enormous, numerical message and remembered he had a guest.

“Hallo, 007, did we have an appointment?”

“No, I was just wondering if you’re as dreadfully in need of a holiday as I am.”

Q had to wrestle with his ethics for a moment, but he leaned in eventually. “Go on.”

“If we work together, we can have two luxurious weeks in Belfast, barring any emergencies of course, and all we need to do is call in a few small favors.”

“Then what are we doing _here_?”

\-----------------

A few small favors later, Bond was dressed down in inconspicuous gray, awaiting M on the tarmac.

Moneypenny was the first to exit their car, staring Bond down as she sauntered to the plane. Behind her came M, looking dangerously mild.

“No reprimand, sir?”

“Plenty of time for that on the flight, 007.”

Bond hurried after them, ever a conscientious bodyguard (who also wanted to see M’s expression when he saw who _else_ was tagging along on this purely bureaucratic mission).

“Hallo, M. Tea?” Q offered.

“Yes, thank you.”

Bond had to admit M’s poker face was one of the best; just one more reason to respect him as the _real_ M’s successor ...

“Anything in it?”

“Scotch, thank you.”

… and one more reason he needed all the help he could get.

\--------------

A very long lecture later, they were descending into Belfast. For his part, Bond made no further trouble. He was just there to do a “sick” 001’s job, and he did it perfectly, silent, discreet and alert at M’s elbow through meeting after meeting after meeting. When he grew bored, he could entertain himself watching M and Moneypenny’s interactions. It took several hours of observation to decipher their beautiful dance of paperwork and pens and swiveling chairs. They really _weren’t_ flirting as Bond had so shallowly and for so long believed. They were already _married_.

They just didn’t know it yet.

Around midnight, after the last gavel had fallen and the last minutes had been recorded, Bond returned to his room with far too much energy to waste on sleep. He’d hoped to find Q just as awake (such a shame the hotel was all booked, and the unexpected quartermaster had to bunk with his agent) but instead found him all tucked into one side of the bed, the nightstand crowded with charging electronics.

With an affectionate sigh, Bond left for the bar.

There he (rather unsurprisingly) found M, hiding in a corner with a teapot and a newspaper, still in his oh-so-presentable blue three-piece.

“What are you drinking, sir?”

“Chamomile.”

Smirking, Bond caught a bartender’s attention. “Another pot for the table, please.”

“Trouble sleeping?” M asked, almost flinging aside the paper, which was surely full of bad news.

“Always, sir.”

“I’ll have to be up at five, hardly seems worth it to sleep.”

“It would do you good, sir.”

“Oh shut it, James. We’re off the damn clock. Just talk to me, man to man.”

A young lady brought over a tray. “Your chamomile tea with honey and vanilla, gentlemen.”

“Thank you.” Bond poured for both of them. “It’s hard for me, sir … you’re not _her_ , and that hurts.”

“I know. I’m not her … and that terrifies me.”

“You’re doing very well,” Bond could honestly say in reassurance. “And it’s no great secret that you handle meetings better than she did.”

They smiled and sipped, and the air was suddenly clearer.

“What are you up to with Q?”

“Still trying to figure that out, I’m afraid.”

“I just don’t want any broken hearts. It’s bad for morale. And I hope you know if there’s ever a rift between the two of you, it’s _you_ that’s getting sacked, not our most valuable department head.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, sir.” Bond saw the opportunity to make a crack about who’d get sacked if M ever lost interest in Moneypenny, but he let that opportunity pass. M wouldn’t have found it funny. “Now I must insist, man to man, that you get what sleep you can.” He stood to go, waiting until M did the same.

He slept that night on M’s couch, ostensibly because it was bigger than the one in his adjoining room. Glad of the company, M didn’t call him out on it.

\-------------

Of course, he still got kicked out at the buzz of the five o’clock alarm, when his boss had to begin the day anew with a strict grooming regimen and a multilingual conference call. Bond, not having to be on duty till noon, gathered his jacket, tie and shoes and slipped through the door into his own room.

Q was already up and puttering about in his pajamas, the electric kettle whistling.

Bond immediately realized his mistake when Q’s welcoming grin faded. Here he was, tiptoeing in from M’s room, disheveled, half-dressed and sleepy. It was decidedly _not_ the impression he’d wanted to make on the first morning of what was meant to be a romantic getaway.

“Are you always up this early, Q?”

“Hardly, but the bed was terribly comfortable.”

“I’ll give it a try, then.”

Unsure what else to do, Bond flopped down atop the rumpled covers and willed himself to sleep while Q curled up on the couch with a tablet and his earl grey.

\-----------------

The next night, the meetings blessedly let out around eight, and M took his staff to a working dinner. With the consent of all concerned, 009 relieved Bond, who skipped dinner in search of Q.

Alas, Q was not to be found anywhere in the hotel. There was no note, no indication of where he’d gone, and Bond began to worry. He heard footsteps in M’s room and went looking for intel.

Moneypenny was alone within, her arms full of binders (which she dumped on the bed).

“Have you seen Q?”

She smiled and shook her head, just this side of laughing at him. “You could call him, you know. You’re allowed.”

Chagrined (but not enough to let it show), Bond swept over to help her sort the binders.

“So where is he?”

“Coding conference down the street. Weren’t you the one that got him on the trip?”

“No, he booked his own passage, so to speak, and we never got a chance to discuss his cover story.”

She put her mind to her work for a moment, and Bond poured some drinks. He took the time to consider his options. He could treat Q like a mark and just be done with it, call him with a tempting invitation and take what he wanted. It would be simple. _Or_ he could treat Q like a human being and suffer through doubt and fear at every turn.

“Not going to call him, then?” Moneypenny took her glass with a delicate touch.

“No.” Bond sighed. “Mind if I sleep on your couch tonight?”

This time she let her laugh out. “You little fraidy cat.”

“That would hurt my feelings if you weren’t just as afraid as I am.”

“It’s bloody awful,” she groaned in equal parts commiseration and confession.

They sat on the edge of the bed, and he put an arm around her shoulders.

“Would you like some advice?”

She obviously didn’t want to stoop to getting advice from _Bond_ , but that was nothing in the face of how much she wanted to snog M. “Oh, all right. What is it?”

“He’s a soldier, through and through, he likes to be told what to do.”

She chewed on that for a moment and washed it down with the last of her scotch. “So I could, in theory, just tell him to sit here on the bed with me.”

“As long as you’re firm but gentle. And a little mysterious; when he’s off balance he reverts even more to his instincts.”

“I think I can manage that.”

“You managed well enough in Macau.” He winked and they both laughed again, clinking their empty glasses before setting them aside. “So what will you tell him once you have him here?” He moved his free hand to rest chastely on her knee as he imagined M might.

“I thought I’d just kiss him.”

“Not yet, darling. M needs to ease into these things. Here, put your hand on mine. Keep giving orders.”

“You need to relax, sir.”

“Quite.”

“Then I’ll say something situationally appropriate about how worried his is and how haggard he looks.” At Bond’s encouraging nod, she continued, finally hitting her stride. “Then lean in to whisper that I can _help_ him relax.”

“Perfect.” Bond sat stiffly, knowing M would neither take charge nor retreat.

“ _Then_ the kiss?” she asked when their noses were about to touch and her hand, still cold from her drink, found his neck above the collar.

\-----------------  
Unbeknownst to Bond or Moneypenny, but knownst to us ...  
\-----------------

Q bounded into the lobby and made straight for the hotel restaurant, where a few texts had told him to find M.

“Ah, Q, what’s the good news?” M looked up from his appetizer (a pint of something red), and his curiosity was clearly tinged with exhaustion.

“Well, I’ve been doing a little talent scouting, and I’ve identified some very promising candidates. Of course, if you’re busy …”

“Not at all. A little snooping into academic records sounds like just the entertainment I need. Let’s go get Eve in on this, and I’ll have something sent up for us.”

They struck off back to the lobby and onto the elevator, 009 close beside them.

“Will I have the room to myself again tonight, sir?” Q asked, feigning disinterest in whether the answer was yes or no.

“I couldn’t say,” M answered with the _genuine_ disinterest of someone who had no romantic claims to stake. “Apparently my couch is a bit larger than those in the rest of the suite.”

“It’s not, actually.”

M’s expression became drawn, and when they reached their floor, he asked 009 for some privacy. The agent nodded and stepped just around the corner, out of earshot if they whispered.

“I was hoping you hadn’t noticed,” said M, sufficiently quietly.

“Why didn’t he stay with me if you weren’t shagging?”

“I suppose he didn’t want to wake you.” The only other comfort M could offer was a helpless shrug.

They both knew there was much left unsaid, but they let the subject drop and rejoined their escort.

\--------------

When the door swung open, Bond and Moneypenny leapt away from each other, both nearly falling over in their haste. But they were too late; M and Q had caught them in a _very_ compromising position.

Bond bit back a string of curses, then put his hands up in a plea for silence and stillness. Amazingly, everyone obeyed.

“You need to talk to your assistant, sir. Right here, right now. Q, we need to give them some privacy.”

Bond backed his way to his own room as if exiting a hostile fire situation, nearly crouched and ready to sprint if he had to. He didn’t have to. And once he was on the better side of a closed door, he could breathe a little oxygen back into his brain.

But then the hall door opened, and Q scuttled in.

“Come to spy on them?” Bond smirked. He kept forgetting they were in the same business. “Have you brought along some sort of high tech surveillance equipment to test out?”

With a cheeky grin, Q darted to the minifridge and returned with two glasses.

“Well _I_ could have done that,” said Bond as they both pressed against the door to listen.

Neither could tell precisely what was being said, except that there was no crying or shouting. Then even the talking faded away, and they could guess what turn the conversation had taken. A moment later, some soft groaning confirmed it.

He’d been so concerned for Moneypenny and M that Bond had forgotten himself. He became aware at once that he was huddled far too close to his closest co-worker (and one of very few friends), half hard already just from the quiet creaking of a distant bed, their bodies aligned and their eyes locked. They could have kissed quite easily if either had been so inclined, but they simply regarded each other in the half darkness of refracted city lights.

Bond conceded his defeat, finally faced with a torture he couldn’t endure.

“I should go avail myself of Moneypenny’s room. I expect it’ll be free tonight.”

As he grabbed his bag, which had yet to be fully unpacked, Bond rather hoped Q would ask him to stay. When no invitation came, he made for the hall.

“Bond?”

“Yes?” He didn’t turn around, hand hovering at the doorknob.

“What are you doing for breakfast?”


	2. Chapter 2

They met first thing in the morning at a corner table.

“Have you already ordered?” Bond was dressed for a jog and stretched as he took a seat.

“Yes, just tea, though. I’m not really a breakfast person.”

“What a coincidence, neither am I.” Bond ordered a black coffee and skimmed the newspaper while Q returned to clearing out his inbox.

After his coffee, Bond left for a few laps around the block, and he had to actively fight the instinct to drop a kiss on the top of Q’s head as he stood. Their so-called breakfast had been the perfect, quiet start to a long day, and it had given him all the strength he’d need to face a full schedule of meetings.

When he returned, M and Moneypenny had joined Q, and he sat to make it a foursome. Mr. and Mrs. M (as they would now forever be to Bond) _were_ breakfast people, and they’d already been working for hours on empty stomachs. They’d piled the table high with various carbs and proteins and full pots of coffee and tea. Q nibbled at some of their toast, and Bond indulged in a Scotch egg.

There was no need to address the elephant in the room. M looked better than he had in months, color in his cheeks and a quickness in his eyes, and Moneypenny was positively glowing. The conversation concerned only the day’s itinerary, but their voices had a newfound warmth, and Bond suspected that Moneypenny’s room would remain free for the rest of the trip.

\-------------

“I’ll need you to knock off early again, Bond,” M announced that evening, during a brief dinner break between (sigh) meetings. “Q’s identified a few potential hires, and I’d like your honest opinion of them. There’s a professional meet-and-greet at seven that they’re all expected to attend.”

“I feel bad leaving 009 to pick up so much slack, sir.”

“Not to worry; I’ve called in another agent to lighten both your loads.”

“What’s the catch?”

“She’ll need a room. Moneypenny has graciously agreed to give up hers.”

Bond glared. “How kind of her.”

“I have every confidence that you’ll be able to restrain yourself in your own room,” said M with an admirable imitation of honesty. “Why are you even _waiting_ anyway?”

“Because I never wait, and it always ends up awful.”

“Good god, man, it’s going on four years now.”

“It hasn’t even been a few days since ...” _Since I realized what’s been going on for years …_ “Oh, M, what have I done?”

“You’re also late for your date.”

Bond checked his watch, too shaken to even quibble with M’s usage of ‘date.’ He still had half an hour to travel half a block. “Am I, sir?” 

“Not if you’re going to wear _that_ , I suppose.”

 _Damn._ No matter, he’d performed far more impressive feats of menswear … though rarely with so much at stake.

\---------

True to form, Bond arrived at the appointed place and time, looking dapper and smelling lovely.

Q met him in the atrium of a neighboring hotel with a playful frown.

“You’ll stick out like a sore thumb in a suit and tie. People are going to think you’re some sort of video game executive.”

“Hm, I rather like the sound of that. And it’s the perfect excuse to chat these people up, isn’t it?”

“Don’t get carried away. I suspect you don’t know the first thing about video games.”

“Which is why I’m the _executive_.”

Laughing in spite of himself, Q led the way to a ballroom divided by heavy curtains, sectioning off different spheres of interest. They went to the most ~academic~ end of the room and mingled. What was meant to be a lively mixer had devolved into little clumps of people who’d all attended the same university, and they hopped swiftly from clump to clump.

Bond noticed nothing alarming about any of the three young go-getters Q indicated. When he had enough to give M a decent sketch, he steered them right out of there.

“That was worse than one of M’s meetings.” Bond dared to touch Q’s back as they crossed into the hallway. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Whatever Q’s answer would have been, it no longer mattered when they felt cold pistol barrels at their necks.

“Hands where we can see them, gentlemen,” said the first gunman.

“Down the hall to the left,” said the other.

Much to his credit, Q never wavered. His eyes went a little wide, but that was the only outward sign of distress. Even when they were tossed in a room with no windows, he kept his chin up.

“I can hold them off for a moment.” Bond whispered. “Please tell me your phone has more weapons in it than mine.”

“No use in here. This room’s intentionally cut off from all wireless communication …" Q didn't bother to lower his voice. "These people take cheating at Tetris very seriously.”

“Hard to do any damage without your pajamas or the internet, isn’t it?” Bond grumbled as the guards demanded their crippled phones.

Q smirked. “I don’t have to prove myself to you, 007, but I will anyway.”

“You’re certainly proving how easily you can surrender sensitive equipment.” Perhaps that phone wasn’t so crippled after all. Bond couldn’t help but wonder if it was explosive.

“It’s not like I can call for help,” Q shrugged.

They weren’t left long in suspense as to the nature of their predicament. A tall, blond chap in business casual burst through the door. He appeared quite miffed (and quite nervous).

“I’m not a killer,” he insisted, “but I know who you are, Mr. Bond … and you killed my boss.”

“So sorry, but I don’t recall making your acquaintance.”

“And I intend to keep it that way.”

“So, what tortures do you have in store for me?” With the subtlest of steps, Bond placed himself more fully between their captor and Q.

“None at all. I may want my revenge, but I know plenty of people who hate you far more than I do. Now, you two just relax while I find out who’ll pay the most for you.”

The guards offered up the phones, and the mysterious young man’s eyes lit up at the prospect of some salable secrets. He left, and one of the guards followed to secure the hallway.

Left with only one human obstacle, Bond leapt into action. Before he could even shout, the guy was laid out on the carpet. One more sharp punch and he wouldn’t wake up for a while. Bond stooped to get the fallen gun, and Q crouched to frisk the guard for anything else useful, turning up nothing. 

“I’m obligated to attempt recovery of the phones; I’d feel better if you made a break for the lobby and contacted M.”

“ _I’d_ feel better staying with you. Best chance of survival and all that.”

Bond wanted to protest, but his breath failed him when Q reached out and took him by the tie.

“Besides, M’s already on his way.” With a gentle tug, Q loosened the knot. “My phone doesn’t need wi-fi to hear me say ‘it’s not like I can call for help.’” He slid the tie off with a snap … and used it to bind the fallen guard’s hands behind his back. “It sent a distress call as soon as it left this room.”

Once again able to breathe, Bond managed a weak “I see.” He remembered the guard on the other side of the door and came back to himself. “I’m afraid I might have to start killing people now,” he warned.

Q still revealed no more than a slight tremble; he helped Bond kill people all the time … just usually from a safer distance. As it were, he was close enough now to get hit with a few splinters as Bond kicked open the door, close enough to have to cover his ears when Bond shot the reeling guard in the shoulder. 

No matter how well Q handled it, seeing him in such danger made Bond distinctly uncomfortable. 

He kicked over the fallen guard and pocketed a second pistol. “Where’d your boss go?”

They followed the guard’s eyes to a staircase and snuck toward it, hugging the wall as they went. A quick glance ‘round the corner told Bond there were two more guards, alerted by the gunshot and covering the ascent. Another two shots cleared the way, made in the split second it took Bond to sprint past the stairs.

Looking back over his shoulder, he was gratified to see Q’s grudgingly impressed grin. On the way up the stairs, Q snatched up the wounded men’s guns. “You’re injuries appear non-life-threatening,” he told the one guard who’d managed to remain conscious. “Do try to keep it that way.”

On the second floor, the hallway branched out in three directions. Frightened voices barking orders drew Bond to the right. Upon peeking, he found four men with much heavier artillery at the farthest doorway.

“This doesn’t look good for us,” he said, sans sugar-coating. Just then, footsteps came drumming up the stairs behind them. “And if that’s not M, it’ll look downright _bad_.”

Q, however, had more faith, and couldn’t suppress a preemptive sigh of relief. His faith was rewarded, and it _was_ the entire MI6 delegation to Belfast coming to their rescue.

“About bloody time,” Bond said by way of thanks, when M replaced Q at his side. 

(Q, for his part, was then yanked away by 009 and moved along by three more people, arriving all the way on the bottom step to explain to Moneypenny what the hell was going on.)

“What the hell’s going on?” M likewise demanded of Bond at the other end of the stairs.

“Four men about twenty yards down the hall, all with semi-automatic rifles. The good news is that the whole lot of them appear to be amateurs.”

“Quite.”

“They answer to some upjumped computer guy I don’t recognize. Although he says I killed his boss.”

“Oh, well, _that_ narrows it down.”

And so it was that the small army of agents made short (non-lethal) work of the last guards, busted into the office and retrieved the phones.

The chap in the chinos gave up without a fight, though he refused to open his mouth.

“No matter,” announced Q, arriving once the scene had been declared safe, “he’s a hacker known as Zero Point. Or rather he’s Mark Slate, a suspect in the case whom we dismissed as too young. Seems he _was_ working for LeChiffre back in prep school.”

M looked around, seeming startled that things had actually gone smoothly. Bond, too, waited a beat, thinking this might be some sort of trap about to spring. They heard only the quiet of agents awaiting orders.

“Right then. Well done, all. Pints on me.”

\---------------

Back at their hotel bar, the lot of them commandeered three tables and raised a glass to near misses. Sadly, Bond experienced a much less fortunate near miss amid the chatter and back-clapping, suddenly realizing that Q had ducked out, lager untouched. His first instinct was to follow, but he resisted that urge. They’d both had a wild evening, and they both needed space (and Bond knew the value of not seeming _over_ eager) so he stayed for a second pint.

“Have you figured out what you’re up to with Q yet?” M asked, drawing Bond away from the small crowd.

“If I may answer your question with a question, sir, what changed your mind about agents and quartermasters flirting? I thought it was distracting and dangerous and could even split loyalties.”

“Well, I was carrying my own workplace torch, so there may have been some projection going on-”

“ _Some?_ ”

“But I know you only follow the orders you want to. Either you didn’t care about Q at all and kept leading him on until I forcibly split you up … or you did care about him and eased off like I asked.”

“ _Or_ I was in love enough to sneak him out of the country.”

“Precisely. I must say I was rather confused to see you here in the bar the other night.”

“I’d meant to have at least _one_ proper date before hopping into bed with him … or before forcing myself _not_ to hop into bed with him.”

“I once had the same hopes for Eve. I wanted to take her for a candlelit dinner and dancing before, well *cough* … and someday very soon I shall, but I don’t think our daily lack of routine really supports proper dating. Spies must live at odd angles to the rest of the world.”

“I’ll drink to that, sir.”

\----------------

Q was already asleep when Bond arrived at their room. Not disappointed in the least, he showered, brushed his teeth and crawled under the covers like he should have done that first night in Belfast.


	3. Epilogue

Bond woke with the sun in his eyes and a small, warm someone in his arms. He was already hard (it couldn’t be helped) and within easy kissing distance of Q’s ear. This was exactly what he’d been afraid would happen without a little communication first, too scattered to see that they’d been communicating all along.

Q soon blinked half-awake and rolled over, burrowing his nose beneath Bond’s chin in search of darkness. “Morning,” he mumbled. He burrowed something _else_ against Bond’s hip, and they both gave a bit of a groan.

“I’ve half a mind to have you right now.”

“Only half?”

With the slightest effort, Bond rolled them such that Q now straddled him, their mouths meeting in a deep, licking kiss. The particular friction of plaid flannel on black silk was one that Bond had never experienced. He found he liked it. A lot.

Q sat up a bit to reach for his bedside drawer. He fished out a slender bottle and pressed it into Bond’s hand.

“I don’t know if I’m going to make it that far, darling,” Bond admitted with a shudder.

Q’s eyes twinkled dangerously. Clearly he understood the power he wielded.

“You mean if I keep doing _this_ ,” he ground his hips down in a long, rolling thrust (and had to pause to catch his own breath), “I’ll make you come?”

In answer, Bond chucked the lube to grab two handfuls of Q’s ass and set their movements to his own rhythm.

“Best to get the easy one out of the way.” He rolled them again, falling upon Q’s neck. The thin tee between them had a faded logo on it and might have sentimental value, so Bond didn’t rip it, much as he wanted to. He instead tugged gently to expose mere inches of one shoulder and collarbone. Q clutched at his back, urging him to suck and lick at what skin he could reach.

Q’s thighs squeezed tighter around Bond’s solid, steady hips. “Damn it, 007,” he growled through gritted teeth.

It must have been the way Q pronounced the number that set Bond off, because, before his next breath, he was coming. His head naturally bent down into the crook of Q’s neck, but then it was jerked (carefully) back by strong, thin hands at his temples. This changed the arch of his back, mid-orgasm, and his eyes snapped open at the new feel of things.

It must have been the sight of Bond’s eyes that set Q off, because he couldn’t hold back any longer either, hips writhing desperately against the great weight that pinned him down, trapped in his own pleasure.

Minutes passed as they caught their breath. Bond heaved himself to his side of the bed.

“Damn it, Q,” he echoed in a much different tone.

“What?”

_I’m not supposed to love people_ , he thought. “How long have you wanted this?”

“Six days.”

“That’s awfully precise.”

“Moneypenny asked if I’d ever slept with you, and it put the idea in my head.”

Bond laughed aloud.

“She told _M_ that I was being inappropriate with you. The ensuing lecture put the idea in my head about four days ago.”

“Poor M, getting dragged into her scheme … though I don’t think he minded in the end, eh.”

Quite content, but also quite sticky, they rose to clean up for breakfast.

\----------------

“What’s going to happen when we get back to London? To us?” Q asked over his Earl Grey.

“We’ll just have to find a way to have easier access to each other, outside of work.”

“Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“Well it’s not like I spend a lot of time there, myself; _someone_ ought to. It would be cheaper for everyone. And it would be so much easier for M to reach both of us with one call.”

“You make excellent points, but what of the cats?”

“Strictly forbidden in my building. But you know me, darling, I live to break the rules.”


End file.
